


Like Ships Passing

by OddKid42



Category: Twig - Wildbow
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Jaime and Sy as little kids, M/M, Medical Procedures, Slight Canon Divergence, he/him pronouns applied to Jessie since it's early interactions, if there is something to be tagged for let me know, spoilers if you haven't finished Twig yet, they/them pronouns for Jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 02:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddKid42/pseuds/OddKid42
Summary: Jaime pushes back when Sy reacts badly to their confession, and long-delayed conversations take place.(Chapter 1 is Sy and Jaime as little kids under bad circumstances if that is more your jam.)
Relationships: Sylvester Lambsbridge/Jaime Lambsbridge





	1. Room

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I started writing it as a happier, funnier version of “the conversation” but then kept going. Then I recycled pieces of my other, incomplete Twig fic. Now it is just something sad and angry, but I would rather set it out than keep marinating it for more months.

They didn’t hear him until he landed from, what they later realized was, the exhaust vent. At the time, it was a sizable thud and then noise as it moved against the floor away from the metal table where they were lying.  


Their head was frozen in place to avoid dislodging the tubes redirecting fluids-- a string of precise phrasing flowing together regarding “the brain-blood barrier without allowance of foreign pathogens” and “cerebral fluid refreshment for increased processing”.  


(It was easy to remember the words like stanzas that played when the doctors asked for phrases repeated back, and cycled air was the only noise in the room.)  


Twenty-two days ago, they cut the nerve to their eyesight for reorganization of structures, so the diversity of sound had been relished. They recognized the sound as feet scuffing against the concrete.  


The only stanzas that sound familiar for likely a person dropping from the vent into the room, they thought, are from the Friday, May 1st morning when the white coat in the back corner of the room, who acts as transcriber, said in an angered tone: Sylvester escaped the room before I could give him-/Wiggins: Shut up.  


(Wiggins, one of the anaesthesiologists; personal note attached: hated for significant dehumanization towards them, extended for cutting off information)/Non-verbal gesture towards them listening.  


“Are you sentient?” The person had a young voice, and it wavered with the question. They had to refocus towards the present, a combination of lag in memory recall and the morphine circulation which was gradually ebbing, and they estimated that they had fifteen minutes until the next cycle of drugged unconsciousness and painful consciousness restarted.  


The person smelled. They couldn’t tell of what, but it was new.  


They wanted to speak with the non-doctor, young voice- possibly the Sy mentioned as escaping from a room. There was a small gap of space in the brace that they were able to move their jaw. “Yes.”  


Their own voice felt stilted compared to the other young voice. Were they older than the person speaking? Sometimes their voice wavered too when they had to speak.  


The child was silent, and Jaime hoped that he would say something. Maybe they should say something? Was it not a back and forth conversation? Usually doctors just asked them questions or their colleagues questions. What would happen if they were missing a cultural difference or unexpressed expectation? Would the person exit the room without any noise? How could they tell if the person did?  


“Are you the Caterpillar?”  


They hadn’t heard the tone before and replayed it in their head. It lifted at the end to form a question, but they needed to piece out the subtleties later. “If I can keep the memories, I am.”  


They could sense the young face appearing in front of them by the smell deepening and the small noise of the person’s shoe again.  


“You have to. I want you to.” It sounded like a command. Like the anaesthesiologist’s _stop fighting it. Go to sleep already._  


Jaime absorbed in the tone in absence of the face. No one else had seemed so invested. Jaime knew that the scientists had reset their memory several times before. There were dates mentioned that they didn’t recall. They weren’t sure of their own feelings involving the resets, if all versions were still them or individual lives, but they wanted to keep the memories. Especially now that the other person seemed determined.  


“I’ll try.”  


Some moment of silence, faint air against their face, and they sensed they were close. “Are you blind?”  


“Yes, currently.” The conversation was relaxing now that they felt the rhythm was correct. Speaking back and forth. “I should have sight later.”  


Small hum. They noted the sound. It didn’t match the doctors’ hums. Linguistic differences? Age differences? He was the first other child that they had spoken to. The other person was much kinder than the doctors with his questions.  


“Why are you sniffing the air?” Mild offense. “Can you smell really well?” Lift at the end of the words to indicate excitement.  


“No.” Was it considered impolite to sniff? He was close to their face based on the sounds. “Sorry. I don’t know what the smell is.”  


“My breath?” There was a small exhale noise. The smell intensified. They wished they could see. It was frustrating to have something non-painful to focus on without the context.  


“Oh, it’s the eggs. The home served scrambled eggs this morning. What do you eat?”  


Eggs? There wasn’t any memory of eggs. They replied awkwardly, “I cannot eat yet. The doctors insert liquid purees into my stomach.”  


“Ew.”  


They thought that was a good sound to describe the feeling of aching and the coldness. “Yes.”  


“When you can eat, I’ll get you some.”  


“Scrambled eggs?” There was only so much room to move their jaw to speak.  


“Yeah.”  


“Oh.” They felt something in their chest. They weren’t sure what it was, possibly emotional. They really wanted to eat the scrambled eggs that the person would bring. They didn’t want to forget the person. They wanted to remember that he had come through the vent and smelled like eggs.  


“What is your name?” they interrupted the boy from saying something though it wasn’t intentional.  


“Oh, um, project Wyvern, but calling me Sylvester is good.”  


They felt a flush of pride that they had guessed correctly. They committed ‘Sylvester, Project Wyvern’ to memory with a side note of ‘will bring scrambled eggs when can digest food’.  


“Do you have a name?” The voice sounded happier after saying his name.  


“No.” They had more to say. They felt an urge to say it because it was a connection between two points. “I think… it is like the scrambled eggs... and eyesight. If I live, I get to eat and have a name. Until I can, I don’t.”  


“But you are a person now.” He said it like they were arguing against having a name. “What do you want to be called?”  


They could think of nothing. Only the names of other people that they had heard. “I don’t know.”  


“Well, I don’t know either. You choose your own name.”  


It was hard. Their senses were beginning to register the opened skullcap and stripped spinal cord. The cycle of morphine was going to restart again.  


“Sylv- Sy,” they said easier, “I am probably going to fall asleep again, but please come back later. Even if I forget who you are. Please?”  


Two seconds of silence. “Okay.” He sounded uncertain, and they couldn’t think with the tentrals of pain increasing every time that they breathed.  


Something clamped over their fingers, warm. They, who became Jaime because they kept the memories, realized that the boy was holding their hand and felt calm until the morphine released again.

After three more months, the doctors had moved onto extending their spine, which gave back their sight (slightly impaired now) and hearing and granted freedom to eat solids at the cost of no longer being able to feel or move their body. Less narcotics eased the loss of mobility.  


They assumed that Sy had come or would come later. Surely, the worst had passed of the process, and they were eager to see their friend. It took two weeks for him to return.  


Jaime was dozing out of boredom rather than recovery though there was a bit of release in wandering through their memories, the few pleasant ones that there were. They blinked awake at the small sound of the door closing. A short boy with a shaved head stared at them from the door silently.  


Jaime stared back uncertainly. They said, “Sy?”  


“Oh. You are awake,” the boy said without inflection in his voice. It was a statement, indifferent but slightly more alert at noticing.  


Not able to control themself, Jaime beamed.  


The boy stared at them steadily but didn’t move closer.  


Jaime sensed something was wrong in the expression and stopped smiling. They hesitantly assessed the person keeping his distance by the door. Their face was drawn as if they were in pain.  


Jaime said quieter, “Are you the same person I talked to?”  


The boy’s face shifted, eyes moving downward and their lips pressed together. “I don’t think so.” His face seemed slightly more open when he looked up from the gray concrete floor. His voice was still stark. “I have been coming, but you were asleep each time.”  


It was said again like a statement of fact, slightly angered by something else that Jaime didn’t know. “I’m sorry.”  


The boy shrugged and stared at the ground before sitting with his back against the door. Jaime couldn’t tell what had happened to change him. They were trying to shift through what to ask when the boy spoke again, “I don’t feel like talking. And I don’t have eggs.”  


“I’m content seeing you,” Jaime said from where they were paralyzed on the metal table. Sy seemed to silently evaluate that with his expression. Jaime asked uncertain, “Do you want silence?”  


The boy nodded his head, and Jaime gave a small smile, trying to be reassuring. They didn’t know if it was rude to stare, but they relaxed their chin on the table and studied his exposed skin for any scars not covered by the oversized clothing. He didn’t seem to have a bandage anywhere. His head was tilted slightly like a headache. Jaime knew that noise made suffering worse at times and tried to breathe silently.  


After time had passed, Sy met their eyes and struggled a bit to stand. He moved closer to the table before sitting down again. He was smaller than they had imagined; the personality seemed grander when they were blind. The effect may have been dampened by the change that had come over him. Jaime wished they could hold his hand like he had held theirs, but they couldn’t move.  


The boy seemed to carefully rest his head on his crossed arms over his knees and watched Jaime back before closing his eyes. There were slight bruises under his eyes. Whatever it had been had kept him from sleeping well for the past few nights or more. The six year old’s head was tilting slightly.  


“Sy,” they whispered. His eyes instantly opened to focus on them.  


They didn’t have anything to say. The boy had been falling asleep and would have likely fallen over since he didn’t have anything to lean on. He seemed to piece this together after a moment and readjusted to sit with crossed legs.  


They continued in silence. Sy’s head bent as he dozed off. Jaime watched for a few minutes to make sure the boy wouldn’t fall against the concrete before letting themself doze in the companionship of another person until inevitably one of the doctors intruded.


	2. Throne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that this is really sad and depicts Jaime knowing that they are going to die.

“I’m attracted to you, which isn’t saying much considering you were the first person to show a shred of human decency towards me. Also, I’ve only seen Gordon by comparison.”  


Sy opened his mouth but couldn’t think of what to say in response, so his brain seized on the easier comment. “When have you seen Gordon naked?”  


“Sy, we’re literal government experiments. We’ve all seen each other naked except others seeing me because of the genital mutilation and body modifications. Only you are allowed because friendship.”  


“Oh,” Sy was recovering, “right. So, uh, the finding me attractive part. They can fix-”  


“Sy, choose your words carefully,” Jaime interrupted and gave Sy a withering look.  


Sy verbally pushed back. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t.”  


“Why wouldn’t I enjoy being attracted to someone I like?” they asked, so Sy could hear the statement out loud.  


While he tried to think of a response, Jaime added quieter, “You don’t have to reciprocate. I could even mention my recent gender identity exploration, but that might skew the decision. Given the shitty scientific ethics board and general denaturing of human rights, I just assumed it wouldn’t come up before I died.”  


“You didn’t mention you were exploring your gender identity to me!” Sy said offended. Who knew you could watch your best friend fall asleep every night in your bed, and they wouldn’t bring up gender or boy troubles? What the fuck was this friendship built on if not daily life and death trials, completely baseless gossip, and sharing vunerbilities?  


“Like I said, I assumed it wouldn’t come up. I don’t want our time together to be awkward.” That being said, Jaime gave Sy a suspicious look. “Are you even attracted to girls?”  


“Of course,” he replied too quickly.  


“No, really. Because looking back on my incredibly extensive memory bank, you don’t seem to be sexually attracted to anyone. You are closest to me, so I assumed you- I am going to kick you over this train car, Sy, if you say something stupid that ruins our friendship in these critical hours.”  


Sy closed his mouth disappointed.  


Jaime scrutinized him some more. “Do me a favor and reflect on your sexuality for me. Let me know if you have any realizations.”  


Sy was annoyed at the doubt but asked hesitantly, “Do you still want me to watch you sleep tonight?”  


“Obviously.” Jaime gave him a hurt look. “Are you truly bothered by the conversation to the extent of needing to ask?”  


Sy thought about it. Jaime was still Jaime. Unless they weren’t Jaime. Even then, they were the only person to put up with his bullshit, and Sy knew that was rare. Rarer still, Sy trusted them and felt safe around them.  


“Not really. I like it when we sleep pressed against each other or with our arms around each other in bed. It helps me sleep throughout the night. I don’t want anything to change.”  


Jaime added another tick on the tally box of “Is Sy gay?” and patted his friend on the back. “Good. In the meantime, let’s go kick some butt.”

The next day, Sy was silent during breakfast, and Jaime rapidly flipped through memories trying to identify the behavior source. While some felt close, none were exact. It was nerve-wracking but a relief when Sy led them behind the house to talk.  


“So,” Sy started casually without making eye contact. “You have to promise not to kill me.”  


Jaime debated how much they should react to this statement. Medium caution given the situation at hand— i.e. their heart. They asked defensive, “What did you do, Sy?”  


Sy squeezed his lips in a thin line. “I may have turned off my sexuality, two years ago.”  


Jaime had to process the uniquely Sylvester problem. There were many paths this conversation could take, but Jaime wanted to be efficient. “What the fuck, Sy?”  


“Listen!” Sy switched to the defensive. “I was worried about it getting in the way with the Lambs. I didn’t want puberty to divide us!”  


Jaime had to stop themself from saying something they would regret. They calmed themself measurably. “Can you turn it back on?”  


Sy’s face lessed slightly from guarded but not entirely. He said quietly, “Probably.”  


In the gap of silence, Jaime asked quietly, “Will you?”  


Sy glanced away then glanced back. His expression twisted like he was preparing for an argument. “What if I don’t want to?”  


Jaime had to glance away for a moment before answering. So much of the conversation was both of them saying something, looking at the other’s reaction, and glancing away. They both sucked at arguing with each other. They never did beyond their usual playful debates about something Sy had said or done.  


Jaime reminded themself that Sy was still Sy. No matter what, he was always going to be their best friend, and they were content if he was content. “Then don’t. Your sexuality is your own.”  


They faced him seriously. “No one has the right to someone’s attraction. But Sy, don’t assume you are attracted to girls by default when you have never given yourself the chance to determine.”  


Sy made the “I hurt my friend” look which was really quite pitiful, but Jaime resisted the urge to comfort him. Their chest still ached with the information, and later they kicked themself for the self-sacrificing advice even though it was right. Sy understanding that his decision had hurt them was enough while the two returned to the Lambs’ sides for breakfast  


Jaime was exhausted at night and left the door to the room open for Sy to come in on his own. Lying in bed with a pillow resting over their eyes, Jaime could hear Sy’s voice as he made the rounds of annoying the small kids into bed. Sy invested energy into pretending that he didn’t care, but it was sensed more than understood for the five to nine year olds that he harassed them into brushing their teeth and washing out of checking on them.  


The headache was hammering harder into their head, worse that last night. Jaime had fought to keep all of the memories together and wake up wholly themself the night before. Things had improved within twenty-four hours with Sy despite the awkwardness of the boy visibly questioning how to touch and interact with them now.  


They were already hanging by their fingernails before telling Sy about their feelings, but the answer- the statistical probability of Sy unlocking his sexuality and liking them back- was too worth clinging onto existence for. They wanted to keep living.  


Jaime rubbed the tears off their face. They could hear Sy telling one of the spunk-headed boys that if he didn’t clean his teeth one of the lab experiments would crawl into his mouth at night to eat the sugar. Helen shouted in objection that she would do no such thing, and Jaime smiled in horror at the both of them.  


While the child was calmed from the mental image of Helen eating their teeth, Sy was chased away from desperately trying to repair the situation, and Jaime could see him from memory by the creaky floorboards. He started to approach the room quickly, slowed slightly, and then walked towards the room purposely quieter as he approached the open door.  


Jaime could sense Sy pausing at the door, and Jaime pulled the pillow from over their eyes to see him studying them. Rather than have him continue the study, Jaime commented, “Not sure which is worse: cavities or Helen at night.”  


The corner of Sy’s lip tugged back in amusement, but the look of concern remained. “What’s wrong?”  


Of course he would pick up on Jaime’s anxiety that he couldn’t recall the children’s names anymore. Jaime knew it was no good trying to hide anything, and they didn’t want to. They inhaled and knew they were creating a memory for Sy that would last longer than them. They said gently, “Sy, I have some bad news.”  


“No.” Sy didn’t move from the doorway.  


Jaime wished the boy would just come over so they could hug him. “The headaches are getting worse.”  


“No.” Sy looked to the hallway desperately for help and then at the corner of the wall and the nightstand. Spaces where Jaime wasn't, and they waited for him.  


“The expiration date isn’t until four years from now,” Sy said. He met Jaime’s eyes fiercely. He thought they were giving up.  


Jaime took a breath that involuntarily shuddered. “That is for the project. I think I’m- I am dropping memories. The sorting isn’t helping me anymore. I think it is about all I can take right now.”  


Sy closed the bedroom door gently, turned off the lights, and kept it together long enough to crawl underneath the covers with Jaime and rest his head against theirs. They both allowed themselves to cry, muffling the sounds into each other’s shoulders.  


“How long?” Sy asked strained.  


“Yesterday.” and could feel Sy’s slight jerk in surprise. “I held out today, so I could tell you tonight, if I thought it was the right thing to do.”  


Sy’s hand clenched the back of their shirt, over the hard, long scar tissue down their modified spinal cord. The scars spiderwebbed out from the bulge of protected brain tissue and nerves, ugly and gruesome. A blurred swathe memory of pain and narcotics and six year old Sy’s voice fluidly lying that it doesn’t look so bad. They should see the inside of his nose. Jaime knew that someone else would have the scars soon.  


“Will it be tomorrow?”  


Jaime kissed his forehead.  


“Jaime,” Sy’s voice was low and angered in a way that they immediately recognized, “I’ve been planning to-”  


“Shut up.” Jaime stopped to ensure that he did and that it didn’t become recorded in some way. In case the next Caterpillar tried to hurt Sy. “I know, Sy. It would just involve me falling apart faster while you watch.”  


“Who the fuck cares?” It was Sy after a dose of Wyvern. All of the hatred of the Academy for what they were doing to the Lambs and him.  


“I care, Sy. Someone needs to watch over you.” In the dark, they couldn’t see each other, but both of their voices were shaking. They felt the other and had known each other since mutilated childhood. “Even if it isn’t me, the Caterpillar watches out for-”  


“I don’t want anyone else.”  


“Even if it isn’t me, they will have my memories. They will know that I loved you.”  


“Jaime, I don’t want anyone else.”  


Jaime hugged Sy tighter. “Please.”  


It wasn’t directed at Sy. Their head was still pounding, but they focused on where they were rather than trying to pick up the books or organize the connecting webs that were falling apart in their memories. Sy’s fingers were touching the curved ridge of their spine. Their fingertips were cold. They had to keep everything together until the morning and comfort Sy.  


“It’s going to be like a house that they never wanted,” Jaime said trying to calm their voice into the one that they used when Sy had his monthly round of Wyvern and they were the only person allowed into the room afterwards.  


When Sy wasn’t attempting to leverage anything on a doctor and locked himself into a room to sit in the corner and let the blood, mucus, and other fluids drip onto the floor in front of him. It was agony with each heartbeat pumping the poison deeper, and Jaime remained silent until Sy spoke first. Usually, a near silent “could you distract me?” Then Jaime would read where they were in a book or speak quietly about a memory.  


Jaime tried to read the situation now like a book. “It’s going to be a haunted house with pictures that they don’t recognize of themself in. They are going to be angry. You have to help them, Sy, even if it is not me.”  


His fingertips were pressing against their third lumbar. The next person would inherit their secreted medical knowledge as well. The person would have the tools to choose their loyalty. They would choose to protect Sy because he was Sy.  


“What if I killed you?” Sy asked nearly silent.  


Jaime tried to think how to reply. They had always balanced between hoping to live until the expiration date and hoping to die on a mission. They never wanted to fade like this. They never wanted to knowingly leave Sy behind. They had considered in moments of anger ending the project on their own terms, but it didn’t work that way. “They would just hurt another child to replace me.”  


Sy didn’t answer and continued clinging to them. They both knew there was no way to escape it given the circumstances.  


“You don’t have to watch.” Jaime offered softly.  


Jaime felt Sy shake his head. The hair brushed against their lips. “I promised.”  
Jaime moved their hand to interweave through his hair. “This is a bit different, Sy.”  


“I already had decided.” From his tone, he had. Jaime selfishly felt relieved. Sy shifted to press deeper against them, a hand against their back and the other at the back of their skull. His forehead pressed against Jaime’s. “I decided you have always been the exception.”  


Jaime processed what Sy meant, and wrenching horror and anger and joy filled them. “Oh.” They squeezed the strands in their fingers. “Sy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”  


“It’s okay.” Sy kissed them. “I wanted you to know.”

They have a last breakfast together. All of the little kids are obnoxious, getting the food everywhere and screaming for the sake of childhood. Gordon and Lillian are obnoxious in their concerned looks at the two that they try to secret. Sy watches Jaime from across the table and doesn’t eat. Jaime eats, so the next person awakens with a full stomach.  


Helen, in an animalistic sense of foreboding, hugs Jaime in the middle of the breakfast. “Can I eat one of your books?”  


Jaime is surprised into laughing. “If it helps.” They stop themself from commenting, “I won’t be able to stop you.” in front of Sy.  


Helen settled down at the kitchen table and ignores all of the hand signed questions directed towards her for what was going on.  


They had the conversation with the rest of the Lambs on the walk to the academy. It was a blend of additional emotions that Jaime didn’t attempt to comfort. Sy trailed beside them, and when Gordon asks if 

Jaime wants the group present, Sy doesn’t leave Jaime’s side when they declines. Lillian tries to repeat to Sy that they don’t want anyone present, but Jaime says simply that Sy is the exception, has always been the exception for all of the horror that Jaime feels that they bring Sy, like a reverse Wyvern injection or possibly the build-up to one, as the two walk towards the Caterpillar lab.  


Sy has gone silent. Jaime feels that it is fortunate that there isn’t too much to say to the white coats for them to rush off for Dr. Hayles and the gray coats.  


Sy grabs their hand, and the two stand together holding each other in place.  


“Should we hug before…?” Jaime asks. Sy shakes his head, tries to vocalize something with his modified throat and can’t. Jaime answers, “I wouldn’t be able to let go either.” Their hands are trembling and tight in each other’s grip.  


“Sy.” Jaime relaxes their grip and looks over at their friend. Thousands of times undergoing the process, unnatural amounts of anesthesia, inhuman amounts of surgery, and casual dehumanization throughout. In the end, it is just going to sleep and being right about their fears of never waking up. In the end, Jaime says full of venom and shaking from anger that Sy and they have to experience the cruelty, “Make sure you make them pay and live as long as you can. Please.”  


Anger was the only relief that they could give Sy. Sy’s anger was the only grounding rod that he could give them as they approached the throne, and the mask was set into place for the last time. In the end, they knew that Sy was there as he promised he would be.


	3. Forest

The Lambs had been kept away from the second Jaime by missions while he relearned basic functions. As per usual, Sy broke into the laboratory room from the vents that he still fit into.  


“When Hayle is done being jackass, we are going to talk!” Sy shouted at the person surrounded by Jaime’s notes. The person who had replaced Jaime, was Jaime now, watched the boy snark the doctors threatening him for breaking the vent while leaving on his own. The Lambs were kept away from the city itself for the rest of the time.  


It was three months later when Jaime spent the week on a mission with the rest of the Lambs, tracking someone not worth remembering. Sy had spent the week interacting with him determined and miserable, like a cat with tape stuck to his feet. He was painfully trying to make jokes and self-aware of the reactions being different and how they weren’t the same.  


When they had reached a crossroads for transportation, Sy had said under his breath to him, “If you want to leave and talk now.” and then looked questioning because his Jaime would have complained for the sake of saying that they had but follow without more prompting.  


Jaime glanced at Sy and took in the rest of the group waiting for the ride to Lambsbridge. “Later? The carriage seems time-sensitive.”  


Sy hesitated but trusted his gut instinct. He turned to Gordon, “Hey, Jaime and I are going to be gone for two or three hours. Maybe more. Rest your hip, or whatever.”  


“Sy!” Gordon sharply snapped, but he was leaving already. He turned to Jaime and after a moment’s hesitation, because they aren’t the same person, said, “If you stay here, he will come back eventually.”  


Jaime followed the sight of Sy’s back entering the woods. He replied reluctantly, “I’ll try for two hours, but.”  


It went unstated that Sy would take however long he wanted, and he wasn’t the same person. Hellen shouted a bye as Jaime caught up to the boy into the woods. In a passing thought, he wondered if following 

Sy into the woods was a good idea, but he was trusting his memories of Sy, which weren’t his own.  


After ten minutes or so of walking, Sy paused and took in the trees and bushes around them. He stood awkwardly for a moment before glancing behind himself and sitting down against a tree trunk. Jaime moved some sticks from a parallel tree with his foot and sat down as well, studying the black-haired boy’s neutral expression.  


“They were my best friend, and I want to get along with you,” Sy said.  


Jaime thought for a moment. “I know. I would like to get along with you too, beyond needing to as a team. But I’m not your best friend.”  


“I know.”  


Jaime shifted to adjust away from the tree knob against his back. He caught Sy watching and registered the memory of it being Sy’s expression whenever the first Jaime got hurt. The entire week from Jaime’s perspective had consisted of Sy trying to treat him like the other Jaime when he was a post-operation child.  


When Sy’s expression strayed to watching a chipmunk several yards away, Jaime said, “I thought you wanted to talk. That was what the break-in a month ago was about, right?”  


Sy looked to him a bit off-guard because they aren’t the same person, and Jaime wouldn’t have been straightforward when Sy was in pain. Sy met his eyes, and they studied each other. Sy exhaled, “Jaime. Jaime… Jaime... Jaime.” He worked through until the familiar, warm tone had faded to a small inflection.  


Sy looked tired, but when he was done readjusting and rubbing his eyes, he looked at Jaime like someone he had already known for a week. “Jaime. I haven’t introduced myself, but you can call me about any version of Sylvester.” The small wince of pain covered by shifting against the tree trunk. “Preferably not Simon since that was their first cover name for me.”  


Jaime noted the second usage of the pronoun. “Alright. I’ll probably use Sylvester. If everyone keeps yelling Sy, I might use it in a rush.”  


Sy nodded. “You can shake your fist in the air too. It adds to the effect.”  


He said it so seriously while still sounding depressed Jaime’s expression broke slightly. “I’ll- okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”  


Sy resumed staring at the area surrounding him without looking at Jaime. Jaime groaned in irritation. “Alright, Sylvester. Unload whatever you want about the first Jaime since you want to so badly.”  


Sy paused for a moment before blurting, “You’re not them, and I keep seeing you out of the corner of my eye and forgetting. I kept telling myself that you wouldn’t be them, but you look and move close enough I forget and then remember like waves of pain. And it isn’t fair to you because you shouldn’t be stuck in the shadow of someone else, but I am struggling.”  


He rubbed his head. “It sucks and is terrible, and if Hayle wasn’t Hayle, I could have at least been present like I was for them when they were sorting out everything and it would have made it easier for me to mentally establish you as separate. Instead, I was stuck fucking grieving and chasing around B-rate enemies, and I kept forgetting and looking over to where you- they would be. I tried to add memory to my skills and I set up a phantom Jaime to talk to and process information with, but I suck at it. And it wasn’t even close to what they could do. Everything just sucks constantly and repeatedly, and I know that I have to spend time around you and process that you are not them when I see you, but it involves me repeatedly reeling everytime because I keep fucking forgetting.”  


Sy fell silent.  


“You keep using they and them,” Jaime commented.  


Sy rubbed his eyes. “Yeah.”  


“Why?”  


“They were sorting through gender,” he said with defensiveness settling into his tone.  


Jaime studied Sy’s response. “They told you then?”  


Sy picked up the vagueness and mentally shifted. “They told me a good amount.” They both considered the other. “What method are you considering to determine if what I know meets what you remember?”  


Jaime glanced to the side and thought strategies of conversation. A glance at Sy showed that he was processing his own plans of approach, and Jaime felt mild excitement despite the situation. “While we could continue circular, you have been pausing enough to go silent and read expressions.”  


“It is easier when I know the person.” He gave information to set a tone, Jamie understood. “But you are thinking direct questioning? Truth only?”  


“Yes, even though you always look insincere when you are honest.”  


Sy winced slightly hearing the statement in Jaime’s light tone, but he didn’t feel like being empathetic. It had been a miserable four months, and he didn’t care for being set in a box of a dead person. Let him sort out that his social engineering didn’t work.  


Sy licked his lips to refocus and seemed more firm. “Fine. I go first since you set the rules.”  


“Fine.”  


Sy looked at him evenly. “Helen didn’t eat your books.”  


Jaime’s eyes moved up to search for the reference before realizing that he shouldn’t react. It was minor enough, possibly close enough to the reset point, to not be close to the surface in his memories. Jaime never recorded Helen eating their books, and if she had, Jaime would have been upset enough at the loss of recorded consistency to retain the memory.  


Unless it was intentionally a false memory. Or it was a comment in reference to after Jaime’s death and was meant to give a reaction of relief, but Sylvester didn’t seem irrational enough to believe that Jaime was still present as a “ghost” in the machine.  


Even though the wording about lying was open enough to allow it, Jaime decided that given Sy’s behavior he wouldn’t lie or reference false memories. It was a dual sided guessing game about what the other person knew.  


Jaime said, “Jaime never fixed their eyesight.”  


“They didn’t want more surgery for something minor.” Sy responded evenly.  


There had been a couple seconds’ pause of consideration of wording. Was there something under the surface there to cause the wording chosen?  


“Besides,” Sy commented, holding the fingers of one hand in the other as if to warm them, “they looked good in glasses.”  


Jaime went through his memory, trying to place if it was a hand signal for anything. Then, he wondered if it was as blatant as a comment on finding the other Jaime attractive. Yet, every single relevant record in Jaime’s notebooks discussed how Sy viewed them as a friend and had delayed puberty due to Wynern.  


Grief changed people, Jaime reminded himself. Then, he grudging admitted to himself that playing Twenty Questions with someone whose entire creation revolved about reading other people and manipulating was a hassle. He exhaled to himself and decided to deal with the dramatics, since Sylvester was noted as dramatic over certain topics, when they were alone rather than in front of others.  


“Describe your relationship to Jaime in more than five words.”  


Hurt frustration that was suppressed down, thought over word count of “They were my best friend” and relevance of repetition, relevance of five words, realization at the direct question, and searching his face for any expression within four seconds. Jaime stared at him patiently.  


Sylvester glared, incensed and rose with his fists balled. “You don’t know anything about them, and it has nothing to do with you.”  


“Clearly it does if I am here after they told you.”  


Sylvester looked bewildered and visibly seemed to have to process what the other was implying. “They were losing memories, you shit ditch.”  


Jaime realized he had misread the situation. “Their notes indicated that they were going to confess their feelings.”  


Sy froze and clenched his eyes closed. It took him a moment to answer. “They didn’t kill themself. They- The organization of memories was failing. Jaime did tell me, about liking me and thinking about their gender, but they are- were a good person and stopped my knee-jerk response long enough for me to stop and think.”  


Jaime didn’t interject. The information didn’t match the crisp code amongst the drawings, so Sylvester was lying or Jaime decided not to tolerate any negative reaction from Sylvester.  


“We had time to talk. I could say goodbye.” His voice was soaked in grief, but his eyes had hardened into deep anger when he looked up to Jaime. “Do you remember what their last words were?”  


He was starting to suspect that even past the self-reflective records, there was a steeled side to the first Jaime. They would have been too angry for it to have been benign. “I don’t, but I have an idea.”  


Sylvester nodded to himself. “Are you opposed?”  


Jaime had only been alive for four months, but it wasn’t a difficult question. He also understood from Jaime’s messages and observing Sylvester throughout the week that he would rather die than betray any Lamb to the Academy. “Not at all, if it is feasible.”  


“It is.” Sylvester stuck out his hand, and the two shook hands. When they had finished shaking, Sy said, “While I remember to ask, what pronouns do you want?”  


Jaime looked at him surprised, had to look at a tree to recover and reflect on the level of transparency that he wanted to have, and then back to Sylvester’s completely serious expression. The question of identity had been occupied something the first Jaime had been working through, and his current concluded answer was that there was no concluded answer. He couldn't act on any decision now without drawwing unnecessary academy attention, but the ability to have the option was an enjoyable experience.  


“Maybe ‘he’ until circumstances change to not draw attention.”  


“Oh. Right.” Sylvester seemed to realize the uselessness of the question when under the Academy, but Jaime smiled.  


“We still have roughly an hour and a half, if you want to keep talking,” he offered as a transition.  


“Let’s keep talking,” Sy answered, stretching out onto the patchy grass under the trees. “Gordon can send in the mutt when he actually needs us.”  


Jaime took a moment to watch Sylvester close his eyes while the sunlight streamed into his hair from the trees. The lines underneath his eyes seemed to have lessened slightly since the beginning of the conversation. Jaime smiled slightly and leaned his head back as well to rest outside of a laboratory for a while. Sunlight had been one of the unspoken pleasant surprises to discover that doctors did not think to note as important.  


Everything would burn one day. The plague, the Nobles, and possibly themselves. At the time, however, the two could be at peace lounging under wild trees.


End file.
